A Doe in the Wolf's Den
by WinterRose527
Summary: Myrcella Baratheon is picked up by Robb Stark's men and brought to his camp in captivity. Why was she leaving? And what does she find once she gets there?
1. Chapter 1

"Found her walking away from the castle, your Grace".

"Away from the castle, without guards?," the Young Wolf asked.

"Just because she's pretty don't mean she's bright, your Grace," a particularly mangy one of his soldiers pointed out causing a bout of laughter in the overly serious room.

But the serious King from the serious family of the serious North didn't smile.

"Whatever else she is, she is a princess and you will address her in the manner she deserves. Are you hurt, princess?"

Finally someone looks at me. At the age of sixteen I am nearing 5'8, towering over Tommen, even taller than Joffrey when I wore heels…until he forbade it anyway. In the tent full of men honor bound to kill every Lannister they see I drew myself up to my full height before dropping into a curtsey so low my rear nearly hit the floor. Flicking my eyes up to the King I rise with a smile. Let them jeer, let them stare, I was born to do what they could only now begin to play at.

"Not hurt, your Grace, just a little weary from the long ride. I was in the litter the last time I came all the way North. Though of course, a great many things more significant than that has changed since then." With that I look him in the eyes for the first time, I see the dark pools of blue and see him as I remembered him when I visited with my family, before everything went so terribly wrong, and he was just the older, brave boy who Tommen followed around like a puppy and who Joffrey tried to treat like a dog. "I … would like to offer my sincerest condolences for all that has happened since then. It is a crueler world than even the stories old Nan could think up."

"How dare you Lannister bitch – your family, your brother-fucking whore mother, is the one who ca-" with that King Robb struck the man.

"Greatjon – take Ryther outside, he will be guarding the prisoners tonight. And let this be a lesson to all those here – it is a foolish man who not only disobeys his King, but confuses shared blood with shared blame"

"Apologies Princess, I'm afraid we've brought you to a terrible place."

At that, Grey Wind comes loping in the room, and just as he did when he was a pup and I was a scrawny foreign girl, he walked right over to me and licked my face and offered me his paw.

"Not so terrible, your Grace" I say as Grey Wind rolls on his back so I can scratch his tummy. I meet the King's laughing eyes for a moment before looking to his mother, who looks as though she's seen a ghost.

Strangely my life falls into somewhat of a routine in the camp. Every morning I wake and pray to the seven. I would then take my breakfast in my room and take care to mend my appearance with the limited means at my disposal.

Then I go for a walk. Sometimes I am accompanied by guards, but mostly by Grey Wind. With winter on the way, the fighters from the South have mostly retreated, and the king is mostly kept in strategy sessions. He had asked me on the third day of my imprisonment.

"It's just that… they do drone on and on, and Grey Wind gets so bored, but he never wants to leave my side. Or he never did, until you came here. Would you mind just…taking him on your walk? He may prove better company than Ryther."

"If it pleases your Grace, I would be glad to take the fresh air with Grey Wind at my side."

The king looks pleased with himself and says, "I am most grateful, Princess".

As he turns to leave I say, "Of course I wonder if Ryther would be as talented at catching my scent, should I ever hope to escape, as he will not have nearly enough time with me as your…pup."

For the first time in five years I see Robb Stark, King of the North blush. A trait, Sansa told me, he shared with his father. They only color when they have been caught out.

Never was I more thankful for my septa's sewing lessons than in those first few weeks. It seemed everywhere I went there was an errant branch just waiting for me to trip over. But more than that, it gave me something to do, something that allowed me to be useful to my captors.

I started with the young ones, the boys a year or two younger than me who inherited the fight rather than chased it. I saw that one of them had a torn knee of his pant and I ripped off the hem of my dress to make him a patch. As he walked away smiling I thought "One down, 30,000 to go."

Slowly I start to learn their names. I learn the sigils of the smaller houses of the North, learn to discern them from those of the River lands. I learn to avoid the Karstark's. I learn to never walk to the godswood when a Mormont is there. I learn that the cook, a Tully relation, will give me extra stew if I show her how to braid her hair.

I only see the King once a day. He likes to wait for me and Grey Wind after his counsel meetings. It's those moments, when I see him alone, that I can most remember him as a boy. One such night, as Grey Wind and I walk side by side, before I had even thought to look for him, a drunken Bolton walks up to me.

"You're just lucky, you little Southern cunt, that we Bolton's didn't first have the idea to rebel, or you'd have lost three fingers and a toe to the flaying by now" He gargles at me, his breath stale on my face. Before he can raise his hand to grab me, Grey Wind bites his arm and knocks him to the ground. He doesn't attack fully, years of battle have taught him the difference between war and discussion.

The king, having seen the whole exchange rushes over and says "Grey Wind heel!"

Grey Wind stays where he is, one paw on the Bolton's, Fry I think it was, chest, even bearing his teeth a bit further.

"Grey Wind to me" I say calmly. At that Grey Wind retreats and comes to my side, sniffing me as if to check for blood.

Fry moves to get up. "You'll stay where you are, Bolton. You are the lucky one that my father outlawed flaying in the North, for if he hadn't, it might be you missing a toe by now, or perhaps, your house missing a son. Princess Myrcella is a guest, she is here at my pleasure, not yours, and if I so much as see you look too long at her, I'll send you North of the wall and let Jon teach you the lessons I am clearly failing to. Come, Princess, I'll escort you to your tent."

As we pass our third group of boisterous soldiers I pluck up the courage. "Thank you, your Grace. So many people don't have the courage to stick up for their friend, let alone their enemy. It is a gift I don't expect to receive, but am grateful for all the more."

The king can't even look at me. He is staring at Grey Wind. "He…didn't listen to me."

"The Bolton boy? The house is not known for caution nor loyalty I believe."

"No Grey Wind. He heard me, but didn't listen until you told him to stop."

"You weren't the one he was defending."

"But I'm…he's…he doesn't even listen to my mother. What is it with you and him?"

"Well he's a part of you isn't he… what is it with you and me?" I say and immediately blush.

The king finally looks his twenty years and he stumbles for something to say.

"I…I just mean. I'm your prisoner and in many ways Grey Wind has been my jailer, but would I find someone to defend me more bravely than either of you should I have the need? You understand that when you take control of something, you are honor bound to protect it. It's a trait that the world could use a bit more of." With that I curtsey "Goodnight your Grace." And walk inside my tent. A minute later I pop my head back out of the tent and say "Oh, and I feed him bacon" and stick my tongue out at him as if I were still an 11 year old princess and he just the son of a Northern lord. I close the tent to the sound of him chuckling.

It isn't until I'm tossing and turning in bed hours later that I think to wonder, how did I know that he would have lingered outside my tent?


	2. Chapter 2

It isn't until I've been in the camp for two months that he finally thinks to, or perhaps has the courage to ask me why I was walking outside the castle the night I was taken. It is on one of our nightly strolls that started the night after the Bolton boy approached me. As Grey Wind and I came out of the woods, we saw the king waiting for us at the edge of the tents. That night, and every night after, he walked me through the camp, pointing out different houses, thanking different men, the long way back to my tent.

"You were running away, weren't you?"

"We do not all come from happy families, your Grace"

"Do I seem happy?"

"No, of course not. But you have the anger of someone whose happiness was taken from them. You fight to get it back. I never had it, so I went to find it."

"Is Sans-"

"She's braver than you know. She… helped me escape. I tried to get her to come with me but she said that someone else had a plan for her – that she would get out on her own and that we couldn't risk being found together."

"Was she hurt?"

With that, I stop. I've never heard that sound from a brother's lips. The anguish at someone experiencing pain combined with the guilt at not being able to stop it.

"She has been hurt, your Grace. Joffrey is not a kind King and Sansa represents everything he fears. But she as grown in the time since you last saw her, she is no longer the girl who cares for gowns or embroidery. She is a true Stark. Know that."

"And how would you know what it means to be a Stark?" the king asks and for the first time I see how deep his hatred of my family goes.

"Whatever my parentage, I was raised by Robert Baratheon, your father's truest friend. Robert may have been a king but to him your father was a god. I grew up listening to stories of the marvelous Starks. The Starks who were tough and loyal and good. I know what it is to be a Stark because I saw every day the pain it caused my father that I didn't have Stark blood in me. He loved your Aunt Lyanna… and I saw that no amount of gold or breeding could make up for the Lannister's lack to him. I know what it means to be a Stark because I spent every night dreaming I was one."

When I finally finish there are tears in my eyes, the rush of emotions from speaking of my father and the disappointment I always felt I was to him leaves me winded. I would have fallen except Grey Wind, my closest friend, leans up beside me to help steady me.

When I finally have the courage to look at the king I see there are tears in his eyes as well.

"Oh please your Grace, I didn't mean to upset you"

"You didn't. I just regret…I regret a great many things. One of which being that neither of our fathers will get the chance to see the woman you have become."

I look down at my feet and find myself squeezing Grey Winds fur. When I finally get the courage I look up at him again. I feel an electricity that has perhaps always been there but has only now sparked to life.

"I am just grateful that you do, your Grace." And with that I lean down and kiss Grey Wind's head, and before I lose courage stand on my tip toes to kiss Robb's cheek before ducking into my tent.

And once again, without any understanding of how I know it, I know that it is a very long time before either of them move.

The next morning, I wake up to the camp in chaos. Men are running everywhere, the whores still asleep in their tents. Horses are being saddled and swords sharpened.

I go to the main tent where I run into the king's mother. Though she has never been cruel to me, I have kept my distance from her since I have arrived, knowing the pain that my family has caused hers. But now she embraces me as if I were her own child and says, "He's coming…Robb…the king has ridden out to meet your Grandfather. He knows that we have you and he has brought an army to get you back."

"What?" I screech, "I must go to him at once."

"You are not free to go, princess. You are the king's prisoner and this is war."

"But these men will die because I was afraid of Joffrey? These men will die because I couldn't bear to live there? These men will die because I couldn't do my duty to my family? Where is the sense in that? How am I worth that?"

"You aren't." she says bluntly. "A daughter isn't worth 30,000 sons. Most daughters aren't worth one. But two men say you are - and they happen to be the ones who lead the armies."

"Lady Stark…you have to let me help, I have to do something."

"You're good at stitching, I've seen it. We'll need someone to dress the lighter wounds, as our doctors will be too focused on the large ones. But small cuts can lead to large infections that spread. Can you do that? You don't faint at the sight of blood do you?"

At this I smile a mirthless smile, "I was raised at the Lannister court, Lady Stark, I'd sooner faint at the sight of gold."

In all my life I couldn't remember being this tired. I felt an ache in my bones and a tension in my shoulders that were the only reminder that time was passing. I had stitched what felt like a thousand wounds and dabbed hundreds of brows with cool towels. Being in the Riverlands, the one thing that was not in short supply was water thanks be to the gods.

It was Lady Stark who finally came to relieve me. I had just stitched a Tully boy, Warren who had been knocked unconscious by accident as someone raised their axe. I looked in Lady Stark's eye and saw the same weariness I felt, but also saw, for the first time, something that bordered on respect.

"We've – er…the king has won. Your grandfather has retreated and his forces have been cut in half."

I breathe a sigh of relief that immediately feels like treason.

"And the king…is he?"

"He's just meeting with his generals. He was unscathed."

"Thanks be to the gods."

She smiles at me and turns to leave.

"Lady Stark?" as she turns around I ask "Is…is Grey Wind okay as well?"

"Not quite." I feel a sadness rip through me until I see her smiling.

"That hellhound was drenched in blood, I forced him into a bath. I believe he is licking his entirely metaphorical wounds near the main tent." Before I can ask she says "Go. You've earned a break".

I want with every ounce of me to stop what I am doing and go find Grey Wind, maybe lie down in the shade and feel the safeness I feel with that great beast. Bu all around me men and boys, my countrymen, lay hurt and confused and alone.

"I'll stay. There is more work to be done."

I am stitching the Blackburn boy's arm (a nasty slice from Lannister steel) when I hear them behind me.

"I can't get her to leave. I tried to relieve her hours ago but she shooed me away!"

"She shooed YOU away. I would have loved to see that!"

"Don't sass me Robb, you may be King but I am still your mother, and that girl was raised a princess. She has been dismissing people since before she could walk."

I wipe the stray blood and put an ointment of my own creation on the boy's arm to numb the wound and then finally turn to my audience.

"Your Grace" I say and sink into a deep curtsey. Grey Wind immediately comes over to me and starts trying to lick my hands clean. It is only then that I realize they are covered in blood. "I- I hear that congratulations are in order".

"The men fought well… so did your grandfather's. Your brother was not there."

"No…Joffrey does not fight those who can fight back."

"I've been told that you treated my mother disrespectfully."

At that I blush "I..I'm sorry your Grace I didn't meant to off-" and when I look up at him earnestly I see the dimples from his smile.

I go to shove him and trip over my own feet. Bracing myself for a fall I am surprised when I feel two hands gripping me. Turning me around as if I am made of feathers, he supports my back and neck with his hands. Looking down at my earnestly, his brow furrowed he says, "You have worn yourself ragged. We must get you to lie down."

His eyes looking into mine are the last thing I see and I absentmindedly reach my hand up to his cheek "so beautiful" I hear myself say as my world turns black.

I wake up to a gauzy screen over my eyes. Lifting my hand I find it is a cold compress, like the ones I had pressed to hundreds of soldiers' brows. I remove it slowly, letting the afternoon sunlight creep in. I try to lift myself up.

"Slowly, slowly my dear" I turn and see Lady Stark fluffing up my pillows to support me.

"What happened?"

"You fainted from exhaustion and dehydration, princess. Do you think you can drink something?"

"Y-yes" it is only then that I feel the fire in my throat, flaming in thirst.

She holds a cool cup to my lips and I sip eagerly "slowly, slowly, you don't wan to flood your body."

"I'm so sorry – I hope I didn't take you away from soldiers who needed you more than I. I am so weak" I say as I feel angry tears flood my eyes.

"WEAK? You stood and helped for 21 hours without food or water or rest. You stitched hundreds of wounds and provided aid to boys who would have been otherwise left to suffer."

I hadn't realized that Robb was seated in the corner until his outburst.

"Your Grace…I didn't see you. Please don't fuss over me, my grandfather could…"

"Your grandfather has fled south with his generals. It will be weeks before he strikes again."

"Oh… well still… you must…"

It is Lady Stark who interrupts me after some indecipherable moment is shared between mother and son. "I will go see to some food, princess."

"See if the cook has prepared any honey cakes…they're her favorite."

I want to tell them that they shouldn't worry about me, but the emptiness of my stomach silences me.

Robb stands awkwardly by my bedside before I shift to give him room to sit. He sits cautiously, as if he is afraid I might turn and run.

"You…you fell so quickly…I was so afraid you might not wake up." He says as he pushes a lock of hair from my face. His index finger tracing the side of my face as if unable to stop itself.

I close my eyes at his touch. I have never been touched like this.

"I am sorry to have frightened you, your Grace. A hostage is one thing, but a dead princess in your care would have rallied men from every corner of the seven kingdoms."

"Yes… I told myself that is what I was afraid of. I told myself that every second of the four hours that you lay unconscious. I told myself that to stop myself from focusing on the sound of your breath. To distract myself that my world rose and fell from that sound."

I somehow find the courage to meet his gaze. "Your Grace…"

"Robb, please Myrcella call me Robb. I need to know that…"

"That what?"

"That I am not just a King to you."

At that I burst out giggling.

"You forget, Robb, that I am the daughter of one king and the sister of another, .Both of whom proved that being a King is not holy nor does it only go to the deserving. Both of whom taught me the transience of the position. Both of whom taught me how dangerous it is to be close to a King. Everything I feel for you is in spite of you being a King."

"And what is that…?"

"What is what?"

"What do you feel for me, Myrcella."

"I-I shouldn't say your Grace."

"Robb."

"I shouldn't say Robb."

"Since when do you do what you're supposed to?"

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

"Would it help if I told you what I feel for you? You almost said it once. You remember right? The night the Bolton boy threatened you. You told me that Grey Wind was a part of me, which is why he was so protective of you. You told me that you knew that there would never be anyone so ready to come to your defense than I. And you were right, I do feel a responsibility for the lives I take in my control, but you were not right about why I feel protective of you." He sighs to himself as if he is trying to get the words exactly right.

I take hold of his hand.

"I remember when you came North with your family. You were what…eleven at the time? I remember thinking that I had never seen anything so delicate, so refined as you. That was until Joffrey hit Tommen. You were taller than Joffrey then and you said that if he hit your little brother again, you would make sure he knew the pain and shame he inflicted on others. Joffrey hit you then, across the face, you had a mark the rest of the trip…I think you told your father that you had tripped over an errant branch. But you didn't flinch. You simply smiled at him and walked away, pulling poor Tommen along with you. I remember seeing you at dinner that night, refusing to hide your scar, laughing with Sansa, and I remember thinking that you were like a diamond. Beautiful and rare and so indestructible, so ardently strong. I remember thinking then that I would never know shame like I knew from not protecting you from Joffrey then. I planned to one day ask my father to speak to yours about a marriage. Yes, I wanted to bring you North to keep you from Joffrey, to protect you, but more than that I coveted your beauty and your strength. Then my father was killed by your brother, and I remember it felt like two lives were stolen from me that day. The life I had had with my father and the life I was meant to have with you. But then you were brought into my tent. Once again you were with men who wanted you dead, but you were not afraid. I knew then that my jewel, my brilliant and beautiful and strong jewel was back, and I was never going to let anyone take you away again."

I sit there stunned. To hear that he had loved me for the past five years, through all the blood and the war and the pain. To hear that he loved me for my resilience and not my title. I didn't know what to say.

"But none of that matters if you don't feel the same. If you don't feel for me what I feel for you then I will not force you to be with me. You will always have my protection, but you will only have me if you wish it."

There are no words for the feeling I felt in that moment, so I did the only thing I could think that would make sense of my emotions. I leaned in and kissed him, my first kiss. It was like my world shifted in to focus in that moment. I felt him hesitate at first, not understanding what was happening, but he made up for lost time as his hands found my hair, cupping my face as he kissed me slowly, opening my lips and my heart all at once.


	3. Chapter 3

When I wake up the next morning, I can still feel his lips on mine. I stretch, and I feel the soreness of the day before. I rise and dress, noting the circles under my eyes, though they do nothing to mitigate the brightness in them, simmering with excitement.

When I make my way outside, I am met with a bright cool day, the camp busy but nothing like the frenzy of the day before. I am surprised as I walk through that more men nod to me, a few even greeting me.

I must look perplexed because Lady Stark says to me, "It's gratitude, Princess. They all know what you did."

"It was the least I could do, Lady Stark. I am the reason they were hurt in the first place."

"You are a Princess, there are always going to be men who die for you."

"Yes, but I could live with it if it was out of loyalty, this was out of cowardice and pride." I say, sounding bitterer than I would have wished.

She catches my eye, and I see something verging on sympathy. I can't take it, not after what my family had done for hers, so I curtsey to her slightly and walk away.

I nearly don't notice my guards anymore. The king is a gracious captor, he has taken to leaving with knights of the Riverlands, knowing their hatred of my family runs less deep. I have wandered into the forest, my guards at a short distance. After months in the camp they no longer fear that I will run away, and they had become somewhat lazy in their duties.

"Your guards do you an injustice, princess," a low voice says from behind me.

I smirk, knowing his voice immediately. "Perhaps it is a kindness, underestimation usually is."

I turn slowly, and for the guards' benefit, feign surprise at seeing the king. I lower myself into a curtsey, a smirk on my lips as I say, "Forgive me, your grace. I thought you a common soldier."

I want to laugh at his annoyance when I call him your grace.

"Leave us," he says to the guards.

"Your grace?" one questions.

"Leave us, and in the future you will take your charge more seriously." He says in his king voice.

The two guards nod, looking appropriately abashed before leaving them.

"I think you frightened them." I say, a smile in my voice.

"Good," he says petulantly, "They forget that they are not just your jailors but your protectors as well."

"And am I in need of protection, your grace?" I say teasing him, walking away slowly, looking back behind me and relishing that he is following me, his eyes blazing into mine.

"I fear so, princess." He says as he reaches me.

I turn, my heart beating wildly. He is so near me, and I can see him gulp at our closeness. I will myself to meet his eyes, and as he takes a step closer I take a step backwards, feeling a tree at my back.

"You see, princess? Now you are surrounded," he says as he puts his hands on the trunk encircling me.

I feel my voice shake slightly, "Perhaps," and then I raise an eyebrow at him, "or perhaps it is a trap, and my plan has worked perfectly. What of that, Robb?"

His face crumbles at hearing his name and his lips come crushing down onto mine. Last night's kiss had been tender, full of hesitation and wonder. But now, Robb kisses me as if he means to devour me, and all I can do is offer myself for the feast.

His hands feel like they will burn through the fabric on my waist as he holds me tightly. I am caught tight between the tree and him, his body pressed flush against mine. I find myself holding onto him for support, his lips keeping up their delicious assault on mine. I feel something pressing against my center as he pushes against me and an unladylike moan escapes my lips.

He stops abruptly at that, pushing himself away from me and walking in circles.

"For-forgive me your grace, I –"

"It is I who should beg forgiveness. I should not have attacked you like that," he says as he turns back to me, approaching me slowly as if afraid I will run away, "but my gods Myrcella I wanted to."

I reach out my hand for him tentatively, he places his in mine and I pull him back to me gently. He does not touch me, but his presence is everywhere.

"Last night you told me of your affection, shall I tell you of mine?" I ask.

"Myrcella…"

"I remember coming north as a girl. Joffrey and my mother sulked the whole way, but Tommen and I were excited for our adventure. When we arrived, I didn't notice you at first. It wasn't until Sansa and I were coming out of our sewing lessons. You bowed to me, but then you turned to Sansa and bowed low to her as well, calling her 'my lady' before you spun her around. I didn't realize until then that there were some older brothers that loved their sisters. You were like this…mythical being, and then I couldn't help but notice you. I saw the way your siblings looked up to you, listening to you like they did your father, and I remembered hoping that my father would take notice, that he would berate Joffrey for not being more like you, and that when it came time for him to find me a match, he would choose someone like you. Someone strong but good, who used his arms to twirl his sister rather than to strike her. And when my brother seized your father, I knew myself a traitor for hoping you would make it in time, scourging the entire Red Keep. When I left, I was not looking for you…but I was looking for the idea of you, a part of the world where someone like you could exist. And then I was brought to you, my captors wanted me dead, but I could have kissed them all. I do not delude myself into thinking this can have a happy ending, but neither can I regret these feelings, these moments with you, for they are what will keep me for the rest of my days no matter what becomes of me."

He is looking at my incredulously and I fear that I have said too much.

"You don't think I mean to give you back?"

"I-"

"Myrcella, even if I wanted to, I couldn't, not before the end of the war, not before we get Sansa back… but even then… I could only ever release you if I knew that was what you wanted…"

"You mean for me to stay? But how…"

"I can say no more, for now. But if you can have faith in anything, have faith that as long as I am king, there will always be a place for you in the north."

"Like this, Princess," Tyla, one of the nurses, shows me as she removes the stitches from one of the Bracken boys.

He is only a boy of 14, two years younger than I, yet he had earned this wound on the battlefield. I had stitched him myself, and I marveled at how his wound had healed, he would only have a slight scar, not marring his young handsome face.

"That's wonderful Tyla, usually when I do stitching I do not remove them – what would be the point?"

She smiles at that, "Well your stitching is beautiful and clean, whether on cloth or on skin. A less skilled hand would have left his skin ragged."

He is listening to our conversation, trying not to wince as the last of the string is removed.

"Ah, the girls of the Riverlands will thank me for that some day. It would be a shame to waste such a face." He colors and I can't help but smile as Tyla giggles.

Abruptly she stops and stiffens and when I turn to my left I see Grey Wind at my side. I scratch his ear and smile as he presses himself into my hand, a woodsy hum emanating from him.

"Tyla, you have nothing to fear from him…" I say but still she hesitates, standing stiff as a board. I put my hand on my hip, "I saw you sever a man's arm from his body, you're telling me that a creature that makes this sound," I say as I stop scratching him eliciting a whine as I knew it would, "frightens you?"

She smiles at that and I nod, urging her forward. Slowly she extends her hand and Grey Wind sniffs at it, before nudging his nose under and bidding her to scratch. She does and she giggles in relief when he takes up his hum again.

I smile at her, "See? So long as you don't try to harm the king or myself, you have a friend in him for life."

Then I walk away, the great beast following close behind, eager for our nightly stroll.

" _You can't Robb! I forbid it."_

" _You do not get to forbid me, mother. I am no longer just your son but your king, and while I appreciate your council I will not be spoken to like a child."_

" _Then do not act like one!"_

I hadn't meant to overhear them, I had been looking for Lady Stark looking for my orders for the battle tomorrow. But when I arrived at her tent, I heard them arguing. I had never heard them disagree and whatever it was they were discussing, it had caused anger on both sides.

I move to leave, not wanting to intrude further, when Robb exits her tent, Lady Stark close behind. He starts when he sees me, but I curtsey low to him. I am always formal with him in public.

"Forgive me, your grace, my lady, I had not meant to intrude. I only wanted to ask you Lady Stark, how I might be of use tomorrow?"

"Haven't you done enough?" she asks, more harsh than I've ever heard her.

I color at that, I knew that our pasts were tangled, but I thought that we had reached an understanding in my time in the camp.

"Mother!" Robb exclaims.

"Don't Ro-" I start and shut my mouth quickly when Lady Stark's eyes flick to mine. "Don't trouble yourself, your grace, my lady, I will speak with Tyla in the morning and see how I can best be of assistance. I bid you both a good evening," I say as I turn away.

I am roused out of sleep by a hand at my cheek. In my disorientation, I feel fear grip me that my family's army had triumphed, that I was being awoken to be brought back. I could cry out when I see that it is Robb above me, and very nearly do.

"Shushshush my sweet, no one can find me here." He says as he sits on my bed, his face hovering over me.

"Robb?" I manage, his name holding all of my questions at once.

"We leave soon, but I couldn't leave like that. I couldn't let your last memory of me be one of cowardice."

"You are no coward," I hear myself say forcefully, "And that will not be my last memory. You will come back to m-" I start but stop myself.

"Aye, I will come back to you, my sweet. But just in case, I am leaving you in custody of some loyal guards, honor bound to keep you safe should I fall."

"I do not wish to be safe if you are not," the words tumble from my lips, and I find that I cannot find it in me to care that I am a southern princess and he a northern king, that I am swearing my devotion to a man who can never be mine.

He closes his eyes at my words, and presses his forehead to mine. With a quick kiss he is gone, and I lay there, wondering which of the seven hells I will be sent to for praying for his victory at all costs, no matter which of my kin he meets in the field.


	4. Chapter 4

It isn't like the last battle. It is further from the camp and we are not faced with the onslaught of wounded soldiers like before. Instead, we can do nothing but sit and wait. I try to busy myself, sewing, walking, reading. All the while I stay clear of Lady Stark, not wanting to repeat our encounter from last night.

When I can no longer think of distractions, I resolve to simply wait. I don't know how long I stand at the edge of the camp, it could have been minutes or hours or days, but I do know that there is only one thought in my mind: That he must come back.

I don't even allow myself to finish it. I will not be so selfish as to hope that he will come back to me. It would be enough I tell myself, that he simply comes back, whole and unharmed.

Though I have no sense of time passing, I do know that it is in the high light of the afternoon when Lady Stark comes and stands next to me. We don't speak, we simply wait. Worry makes odd allies, and I think she draws comfort from the company. I know that I do.

I remember my mother during the Battle of the Blackwater. Drunk and manic, spouting off tales of famous sieges and their gruesome aftermath. She had terrified all of the women, and worse, she had taken pleasure in it.

I was struck by the difference of her and Lady Stark. I had always known it, had seen the difference in the way her children looked at her, how they teased her lovingly. I had seen the way Lord Stark and she had stood so close before -… I had never seen my parents stand that close.

I see her hands fidgeting, her nails digging into her palms, and without thinking I take one of hers in my own. She doesn't reprimand me, doesn't flinch as I would have feared she would if I had stopped to think about, she simply stares straight ahead, her only acknowledgement a brief squeeze of my palm.

It is dusk when we see them come through the clearing. We cling to one another now, his mother and I. We look in different directions, but we search for the same thing, him. We needn't have bothered, for there he is, at the front of his men, riding his enormous grey steed.

If I had looked in his eyes, I might have seen confusion at seeing his mother and me hands clasped, or perhaps I would have seen the unspoken apology amongst the dizzying pride, but I didn't look in his eyes. For all I could see was the man running behind him, his hands bound and being lead by a rope. It only took me a moment to place him, the blonde hair, the smug face, defiant even in capture, the gleaming armor. It was my beloved uncle, the Kingslayer.

I hadn't meant to hit him per se. It had all happened so quickly, Robb hopping off his horse and kneeling before his mother for her blessing. Ryther taking advantage and kicking my uncles legs out from under him. I hadn't thought, but looking back, I'm not sure I would have acted differently if I had.

I don't even remember walking to him and striking him, though even now I can feel the effect on my palm.

I only vaguely heard my uncle yell, "Myrcella no!" as he raised himself, clearly hell bent on protecting me, before someone kicked him in the face and I was flung over a broad shoulder and brought back to my tent.

I'm sure this wasn't the homecoming Robb had imagined. I myself had imagined curtseying to him gracefully, congratulating him on a hard earned victory. I imagined telling him with my eyes how badly I wanted to kiss him, how relieved I was for his safe return. But then I had ruined it with my quick temper and rather impressive slap, but what could I do? He had captured the only member of my family who had ever protected me, the only one whose love I was certain of.

I wait in my tent for hours, two guards posted outside. I feel my stomach grumble but I refuse to ask them for food, refuse to show any sign of weakness. For the first time in the camp, I feel well and truly captive. Perhaps the idea of another Lannister present set everyone on edge, especially as he was one of the most notorious killers in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

It must be nearing midnight when the flaps of my tent are parted by Grey Wind, looking almost comically large in the enclosed space. I can't help but be relieved to see him alive and well, so I don't protest when he comes and sits on his haunches, resting his head in my lap. I stroke his head and am comforted by the woodsy hum he always lets out. I notice that even as he relaxes at my touch, his eyes are alert, and I realize that he had come, either by his own will or the king's, for my protection. My uncle had reminded them why it is they hated they Lannister's, and my desire to protect him had reminded them all that I was one. I didn't feel like a lion though, fierce and strong, only a doe, lost in the woods, and grateful for the protection of the wolf even as it puzzled me.

I didn't realize I had fallen asleep, but when I wake he is standing over me again. Even though it is pitch black and I cannot see, I know that it is him because Grey Wind, sleeping at my side, doesn't even raise his head.

"Robb?" I ask, as I reach to light a candle.

In the glow I see Robb kneel before me, and he bends his head to me now as he had to his mother. I have never given the Blessing of Return, but I still know the words and I say them quietly as my hand rests on his head, feeling his rich curls.

I want to tell him that I'm sorry for striking his man, for proving myself a Lannister, for being disloyal. I want to yell at him for capturing my uncle, for making him a spectacle, for being born into a family more noble than my own.

But I don't say any of those things. Instead I raise my lips to his, and catch his surprised sigh in my mouth. I don't know if it is the darkness, or the anger, or the fear of losing him that makes this kiss so different than the others, all I know is that when he kisses me back a moan escapes my lips and I feel like the flame, flickering brightly.

He must feel it too, because where before he was careful, in control, now he is a man gone. He moves so quickly and suddenly he is on top of me. His hand finds my bottom and he squeezes it making me shiver, before running down my leg and hitching it above his waist. My hands are in his hair, but when he presses against me, they fall down to his back, my nails digging in. Without realizing it I wrap my other leg around him, not being able to resist pressing myself against him.

One of his hands finds my neck, tilting my head back with a nudge of his thumb and exposing my throat. He presses kisses there so light I could cry. But then his hand comes up my thigh again, though this time in between my legs. I gasp when I feel his fingers graze my center. I feel myself grow wetter and I wonder if he will be disappointed. But then his finger traces my slit, more purposeful this time, and I hear him groan.

"Robb…Robb my maiden-" I stutter as his fingers find my nub and I fear I may pass out from the pleasure.

"Do you trust me princess?" he asks, as his fingers tighten slightly on my throat.

"Yes," I breathe out without hesitation.

He groans again and I am not sure if it is from my acceptance or from the feeling of my body surrounding his finger as he pushes it inside me. But then his thumb circles my nub again and I find that I can't think at all.

He sticks another finger in and my breath hitches, his voice is like velvet as his teeth graze my ear, "Do you like that princess?"

"Yes, oh yes," I mumble.

His thumb moves in circles over me before he pushes his fingers in me again, alternating in a delicious pattern. I don't know when I start moving against his fingers, but my hips start rising to meet him. I find the strength to raise my eyes to his and I can see his pupils dilate as I move against him.

Without a word, he rolls over so he is on his back, pulling me with him. In some recess of my mind I realize that Grey Wind must have moved to the floor.

His fingers never leave my center, but he uses his other hand to grab my leg so that I straddle him.

"Ride me," he says and I have never heard his voice so husky.

"I wouldn't, I don't know how"

"Yes you do, my sweet, you were just doing it. Listen to your body when I do this," he says as he presses his thumb against me, and I involuntarily move my hips, "and this" he says as he moves his fingers in and out of me. Like they had just moments before, my hips move to meet him. We fall into a rhythm, slowly, but when he adds a third finger I find myself bucking against him, my head falling back as my hands raise to my own breasts.

"My gods, princess, you will be my undoing," he says gruffly, and he is mine, as I fall apart at his words.


End file.
